


Collections

by newrromantics



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8345245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newrromantics/pseuds/newrromantics
Summary: A series of moments in time.





	

Cordelia remembers every past life she has ever lived.

 

The mean girl. The spoiled one. Wicked rotten dirty to the core.

The hero. The golden girl. Tragic strong heroine.

The bait. The trap. Needed to be saved by all.

Damsel in distress —

 

Every life she's lived in the same breath, a complex character, a paradox of a woman.

Fade to black.

 

 

Her daddy hoists her up onto his knee, his cigar ash falling onto the garden table as he talks business with another smarmy man who makes Cordelia's skin feel uncomfortable. Her mother's away drowning her sorrows in Gin in the upstairs bathroom, pills lining the bathtub like the magnets Cordelia uses to learn how to count. It's one of the hottest Summers recorded in history, the sun sweltering against her skin. She tugs on the flimsy yellow camisole her mother had thrown on her bed that morning, a firm red kiss staining her cheek.

Cordelia is barely five years old when she learns the tricks of the trade. Spoiled girls, attention-seeking girls, whiny girls — they're the ones who have to fight for love and for attention and for everything they want. And in the end, they either get it or they end up with a hole in their heart the size of Jupiter.

"Dad," Cordelia tugs on his loosely fitted tie, lips in a pout, eyes filling up with tears. "Dad," Cordelia whines, louder this time. His business partner keeps talking at a rapid pace, hands flying everywhere. The sun hits Cordy's eyes harshly. "Daddy," Cordelia snaps, pounding her little fist into his chest. It's this that catches his attention, turning away from the man and to her.

"Go inside, Cordelia." It's an order, fingers curling at his sides. Her daddy would never hit her, but he'd take his anger out on other members of the household. Cordelia sighs, slipping off of his lap and trotting inside. Her house is huge, a Southern Gothic mansion that all the other kids envy. But it feels empty and hollow and cold inside, too many winding staircases for Cordelia to follow. Harmony gushes about how good it is for hide and seek, and Cordelia nods, and says something boisterous and proudly about how it's a "classic house" and how "it's beautiful and charming". These are words she has learned from her parents, listening in on private conversations as they greet their guests.

But it just makes Cordelia lonely. It makes her ask for a little brother or sister, a question that makes her parents go silent and she's asked to go upstairs to her room. But if she had a little brother they could play with the train-set her grand-daddy got her in the playroom. Or if she had a little sister they could play with the doll-set her grandma brought her up in the spare room. Harmony has a little brother, he's just a baby, but he's got the biggest, brightest blue eyes Cordelia has ever seen. It's her favourite part about going over to Harmony's house, little Ben.

"Mama!" Cordelia calls out, fingers tracing the banister as she climbs up the stairs. But all she's met with is silence. Not even one of her momma's sad songs are playing, a soft lullaby to comfort Cordelia with. It's just...silent.

She flings her door behind her, a loud slam echoing throughout the household. But no-one scolds her for it. Cordelia never gets told off like the other kids do. Her parents will shake their head and pick up their glass, or send her upstairs to her room. Stand-offish even when Cordelia is playing up for attention, feet stamping against the ground, her whining voice getting louder and louder, her list of demands more outrageous than the last. When she was at Holly's house, her mom yelled at Holly for ten minutes straight when she spilled apple juice on the carpet. Cordelia spills her apple juice all the time and she just gets more presents.

Her friends are all at the pools today, because Harmony and Holly were talking about it non-stop at their play-date the other weekend. But Cordelia's parents had stopped her from going when they learned that the _whole_ class was going to be there and not just Cordelia's friends.

 _"But why, mama,"_ Cordelia had whined, climbing up onto her lap, fingers grabbing at the silk shirt she wore. _"Why can't I go?"_ Her little fingers gently pulled off of Mrs Chase's shirt, her hair stroked in a disinterested manner, her mother not all there some-days (most days).

"We can't have you hanging around the Harris's," Her father interjects, and Cordelia thinks of Xander Harris who kept trying to sit next to her all year and wrinkles her nose.

"I don't want to be friends with him." Cordelia protests.

"Or the Ginbergs." Her mother adds.

"And definitely not the Parker's."

The list goes on. Cordelia's friends are picked for her by her parents, their elitism passed onto their offspring at a young age. From the time she could talk, she knew the right people to socialise with, and the wrong people to be seen with. It wasn't news to her.

"But I'll be the only one not going." Cordelia says, lower lip tugged out, hands fitted into fists. Her parents sigh at the same time, finding something to agree on is rare for them these days.

"We'll do something special with you that day, Cor." Her mother pats her head, the signal of the conversation over and for Cordelia to be a good little girl and keep quiet now.

But today has come and her parents haven't taken her out. They were supposed to go to the zoo. Cordelia wanted to see the lions. But business came up and her mother has been locked inside of the bathroom all day. And Cordelia has once again been forgotten.

 

 

Her eyes are bright as she passes the vial of nail polish off to Harmony, the two of them lounging outside in front of Cordelia's pool. Her parents are gone for the weekend, a vacation trip to save their marriage. For Cordelia it means endless parties, a revolving door of boys and Harmony and her.

Harmony sticks her tongue out as she concentrates on flicking just the right amount onto her nail. Cordelia shakes her head, running her hands through her hair to straighten out the knots that have formed from their dip in the pool earlier and picks up the magazine to her right. For her twelfth birthday her parents had brought her a subscription to Vogue, the one good thing they ever did for her.

"Cor," Harmony sighs, once she's finished with her last nail, cap screwed back on. "Do you think I'm fat?"

The question startles Cordelia, a rare occurrence in her life. Cordelia is startled by nothing, she's exasperated by everything but startled by nothing. Her eyes narrow in on Harmony's figure, the curves Cordelia had envied all through out the past three years, the boobs that fill out the top of her bikini.

"No." Cordelia replies, but she's tempted to say _yes_ for a laugh, to see if Harmony will lose any weight, to see the figure Cordelia has wanted gone. But despite what is spread around school, she's not that vicious. Her mean streak is more accidental than anything else, her bluntness a bad habit she can't kick.

It's the end of their conversation. No more prodding, no more diet tips, no more _we should exercise together_ rants.

Cordelia reads her Vogue, Harmony hums along to the song on the radio. It's peaceful. It's the kind of friendship everyone is envious of but lately, Cordelia's been reflecting on how hollow it feels. Harmony likes her because everyone likes her, it doesn't matter if they've been joined at the hip since pre-K because even then, Harm liked the big mansion and the jet-setting parents more than she liked the little girl that came to play Barbie's at her house.

It's more often that she reflects on herself these days, ideas flitting in and out of her mind. Most she chooses to ignore because those aren't problems for her to deal with right now. Cordelia pushes her sunglasses on, leans forward and takes a sip of her lemonade and swings her legs off of the chair she'd been lounging on. Her magazine is flung to the floor carelessly, growing bored of the rabid entertainment of combined celebrity gossip and fashion.

Harmony follows without a word being uttered, the two of them trailing into the empty abode Cordelia calls home.

"When's the party start?" Harmony asks, popping a grape into her mouth from the fruit bowl laid out on the kitchen table. Cordelia shrugs as she opens the fridge, eyes scanning for the low fat yogurt she'd seen earlier in the day. Cordelia doesn't know, doesn't care. As long as people show, mingle, have fun, make sure it's unforgettable — there's nothing worse than a party that's just spoken about once, _weird vibes_ , or, _not that memorable._ But Cordelia isn't going to try to make it amazing, those are always the ones that turn out to be a flop.

Cordelia grabs the yogurt and falls into a seat at the kitchen table.

"Who's coming?" Harmony asks.

Cordelia rolls her eyes, "Enough with the questions?"

It had been open invite, excluding losers, of course. Her bouncers are the ever-faithful bunch of Cordettes, who get to say yes or no to whoever shows up at her door. Wanna-bees like Xander Harris and Willow Rosenberg will be turned away, of course. Basic knowledge.

"Sorry." Harmony apologises, quickly, like a trained dog. It's how Cordelia likes her friends — compliant and detached from her. Everyone cares for her and she cares for no-one, it was a lesson her parents taught her when she was young; keep people at bay so they can't hurt you.

 

 

Cordelia is twenty-two when she moves away from L.A., leaving sunny California behind her like a bad curse. Her beach babe roots cry out in horror as she boards the plane to New York, a one way ticket in her hand and a freeing feeling in her bones. Angel and the gang don't need her anymore. She's on their speed-dial, back home in a minute if they call, but they're doing fine without her — and there's demons everywhere in the world, she can make a difference everywhere she goes. She would just prefer to do it away from the constant reminder of the trauma she has endured over the years.

It seems to be the same thought process Buffy Summers goes through: move the hell away from a home that has only given you scars.

There she is, the golden girl of the Scooby Gang standing in the same airport as Cordelia Chase. Her hands enclosed over a suitcase and a furrowed brow as she reads the arrows in the airport.

Cordelia hasn't seen her since she stopped by in L.A. that one time, a brief visit to the boss and then she had fled. They'd kept up through phone calls over the years, messy handwritten letters during the darker parts of their lives, an unspoken connection they'd never had needed to describe because it was so weird to both of them.

Half of her feels lighter upon seeing her, a friendly face in an unfriendly crowd. Half of her hates seeing the reminder of the girl who'd introduced her to this life, a life that had saved her and broken her half a dozen times. And then, another small fraction of her, is _jealous_ upon seeing her. Here is the girl Angel will always love, the girl everyone will always love, and how Cordelia has craved that love all her life.

"Buffy," Cordelia calls out, her voice faint among the noisy strangers passing by her. But it must be super-hearing or something, because Buffy turns to look at her, a radiant smile lighting up her whole face in relief and surprise.

"Cordelia?" Buffy laughs as Cordelia reaches her. Cordelia's arms hang by her sides, unsure of if she's supposed to greet Buffy with a hug or not. It's what Cordelia used to do as a teenager, envelop her friends in hugs, but Buffy's never really been a _friend_ , has she?

"Lost?" Cordelia raises an eyebrow, prompting a wry smile from the girl across from her.

It's a surprise to her how much they've both grown—from two competing homecoming queens to hero's in their own right.

Buffy looks aged, worn down by the years she's endured, the pain and the fight and the responsibility. Cordelia can see the horrors she's witnessed in her eyes because they're reflected in her own, they've weathered a similar path over the years.

"A little," Buffy laughs.

Cordelia's lost, too.

"We can help each other."

 

 

Her hands tremble as she plucks the glass out of Fred's skin, the older girl wincing slightly as Cordelia places a band-aid over the wound.

"How did you know you wanted to be a demon fighter?" Fred asks, her eyes glinting with something similar to pride, "To be a hero?"

Cordelia shrugs her shoulders as she peels her gloves off, "I'm hardly a hero. I'm no Buffy."

Fred's still new to the gang, three months of a summer spent locked up in a room, she's still adjusting. Learning the ins and outs of the business, along with the history that comes with each of the members. But after a few seconds her face lights up in recognition of the name.

"Oh. That's the girl Angel loves." Fred notes.

_That's the girl everyone loves._

Cordelia's done a lot of growing up since leaving Sunnydale behind her in the dust, a lot of pondering as she's left awake at night and she's come to the conclusion that she may have been half in love with Buffy, too. Her first real crush, the sinking feeling every-time Buffy didn't give her the time of day, the harsh remarks thrown in the corridor, the label of _freak_ held permanently on her tongue because _like-liking_ Buffy wasn't right. So Cordelia fought it the only way she knew how.

"Yeah," Cordelia says, voice hollow as she twists the cap back onto the disinfectant she had used for Fred's wounds.

"You're a hero, too." Fred pipes up again.

Cordelia smiles tightly, politely, and thinks: yeah, maybe.

 

 

 _New Girl_ rings through-out the school for weeks, rumours circling before she's even arrived. Fire. Murder. Abusive boyfriend. Divorce. Unstable parents. Cordelia has heard a full run-down of all the reasons why some girl from L.A. would move to a nowhere town like Sunnydale.

Cordelia chooses to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Or, at least she does when Buffy waltzes into their History class, and Cordelia's heart starts fluttering in a way it's never done before.

(Later: she thinks it's because of _soulmates_ and _fate_ , all that ridiculous hippy-dippy stuff Cordy has never brought into before).

Plus, she has a killer wardrobe and hair Cordelia is secretly envious for. Golden and light and sunny, the first word that springs to mind is _beautiful_ and then the fear of an overruling kicks in. Buffy would make a good Cordette.

"Hi," Cordelia introduces herself, all charm and smiles that were taught at an early age. Buffy takes her hand, and Cordelia thinks: _yes i've made a good choice._

**Author's Note:**

> This...is not supposed to follow a linear fashion of story-telling; they're just unconnected, random moments from Cordelia's life that I've bunched together to try and make a story. Will be updated irregularly with more snippets, probably.


End file.
